


fullseasonformindy celebratory collection

by alittlenutjob



Category: The Mindy Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlenutjob/pseuds/alittlenutjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am beyond thrilled that we got our full season and last night I put out the call for prompts on tumblr and wrote until like 2am. Each chapter is a different story, and it's a pretty mixed bag and they're a bit messy, but it was fun. You can find offerings from a number of other writers here: <a href="http://alittlenutjob.tumblr.com/post/102682452537/the-glory-of-love-fullseasonformindy-ficlet-master">http://alittlenutjob.tumblr.com/post/102682452537/the-glory-of-love-fullseasonformindy-ficlet-master</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. for amindyproject

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Danny reached down to haul Mindy up, helping her adjust her skirt as she tried to stand on frankly ridiculous cobalt blue heels.

“Hey, I know you had your big wedding with Christina, but this is a big deal for me.”

“I know that. It’s a big deal to me too. But I don’t need dancing lessons.” He could have sworn he heard the instructor scoff from the corner as they resumed their stilted box step, the third dance they’d tried tonight. They’d started with a waltz, but after it was apparent that it was not going to catch on the instructor tried something a little less complicated.

“Well we need to do something. Do you want to start our married life with 500 of our closest friends watching as you drop me?”

“Five hundred? No, fifty, tops.”

Mindy ignored him as she continued, face serious. “They’ll think you don’t love me.”

“That’s dumb. It’s a wedding.” He shook his head. “Five hundred.”

“They’ll think we don’t have rhythm.”

“You don’t have rhythm, Min. I do.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You wouldn’t say that if we were naked right now.”

Danny looked around nervously. “Shh! Don’t say that here.”

“All I’m saying is we work together just fine when don’t have an audience.”

“Okay, so let’s skip the big wedding. We can be in Atlantic City in three hours.”

“You have to wait three days to get married in Atlantic City. I am not spending my weekend in New Jersey.” Mindy gave up on the dance and pulled him to the edge of the dancefloor.

“Wait, how do you know that?”

Danny could see a blush light her cheeks as she tried to avoid his eyes. “Um. I don’t know. I just do.”

“Mindy…”

“I might have looked it up once.”

He dropped her hands and stepped back. “Wait, what?”

“Back when Casey and I were going to do a quickie wedding we talked about doing a doing a drive through.” She caught the look on his face. “They don’t do them.”

“Vegas?”

“Danny it would take me three days to pack for Vegas.”

“So, Atlantic City.”

Mindy scowled. “Stop. I am not getting married without my family and neither are you. Your mom would kill us both.”

“So how about we skip the dance? We can just have a disco, no one cares.”

“A disco? What are you even saying to me right now?” Mindy shook her head wildly like she was trying to clear it. “We’re doing a first dance, I’m going to dance with my dad, you’re going to dance with your mom and then Peter’s going to start a conga line to distract everyone while we have sex in the bathroom.”

“Mindy!”

“Relax, you square. All I’m saying is that I want the whole nine yards, and I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of everyone we know.” A worried frown creased her brow and his heart fluttered as she stared straight into his eyes, hers shining. “What if we can’t do it? What if I’m just incapable of doing this? What’s wrong with us?”

Danny slipped his hand into hers and pulled her gently back onto the floor. He squared her hips and shoulders as she watched him with a frown. Taking her other hand, he pulled her close and lifted it to his shoulder. As she wrapped around him he leaned close to her ear. “Don’t listen to the music. Listen to me. I’m gonna hold your hand right here over my heart. You follow my beat, don’t look down, just watch me.”

The dance began slow, and they stumbled a couple of times. She pulled against his lead, but he held tight. Just as it felt like they might have to let go, something clicked. They picked up speed, but not much, this time smoother, not perfect sync, but more assured. Her eyes never left his, and his hands guided her as they made their way to to center of the floor.

"Danny, I’m doing it," she whispered, a smile breaking across her face like golden dawn.

“We’re doing it.” He spun her and to his delight she whirled out and right back into his arms. He dipped her low and caught her lips in a sweet kiss before pulling her against him and back into the dance again. “Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”


	2. for tinyfierceandsassy

Danny freezes, unsure of what he could possibly say at this moment to turn it into anything other than another humiliation. His eyes flick to her lips and he says the first thing that pops into his mind. “What kind of lipstick is that? My mouth is burning.”

"Lip Venom." She looks like he caught her off guard.

"It tastes like cinnamon."

"According to Cosmo it’s a sexy surprise."

"I’m….surprised."

"Me too." Mindy gives him a thoughtful look as she turns and unlocks the door.


	3. for gethlove

Mindy wondered, as she fished an M&M out of the bottom of the bowl with her spoon, how it was possible to hate someone for doing you a favor. She knew it wasn’t Peter’s fault and she was grateful that he’d at least had the decency to buy her frozen yogurt before doing the deed, but she couldn’t bring herself to swallow it.

“Mindy, you’re not eating. Are you okay?”

“Do you think it’s serious? I mean, does Sally think it’s serious?”

“I don’t know. She’s only supposed to be here for a couple of months. She kinda flakes out on things. Maybe it’s a fling.”

The first heave caught Mindy off guard.

_The first time she got the stress pukes was when she was 5 and had to play kangaroo two in her dance recital. It had seemed fun in class, and she’d known she wasn’t all that good, chubbier than the other girls, always pushing her glasses back onto her face when she was supposed to be moving her arms, but it had been fun. She’d told her mom that morning that she didn’t want to go on stage in front of people, and her mom had pulled her into a tight hug and assured her that once she got on stage she’d forget all about the audience, she’d just dance. Instead, Mindy had stood in the wings stubbornly as the rest of the girls filed onto stage and twirled to a song picked out by old Mrs. Dodson on the upright piano that usually stood in the corner of the dance studio. Mary (kangaroo one) had looked so lost without Mindy; all the other girls in matched pairs. When they’d finished their dance, almost every girl had been pink with excitement, giggling on their way back to the green room where the moms would be waiting later tonight. Except Mary. She had simply brushed past Mindy with a blank stare and grabbed Ellen’s hand, marching away like an angry stranger. Mindy had stood at the edge of the stage imagining Mary explaining to her mother why she was the lone kangaroo. Then Mindy had thought of her own mom, who’d expected to see her on stage and what she’d say when Mindy admitted that she’d refused to dance._

_As her mom had stood over the sink washing the vomit out of Mindy’s leotard that night she’d promised that Mindy would never have to go back. They had found themselves there again many times over the years – after the science fair, prom night, the morning of the MCATs, and every time her mother had helped her clean up and kissed her hair and while they both knew they’d be here again, Mindy knew she’d make it through this too._

Peter moved surprisingly fast when he realized what was happening, pushing the waste bin into her hands as she retched, but it was mortifying all the same to puke in front of a colleague for no better reason than the man you’d thought was The One had moved on without so much as a by your leave.

“Mindy, holy shit! Are you pregnant?” Peter looked a little green around the gills himself.

“No.” She wiped her mouth. “I just puke when I’m stressed out.”

“Over Danny?”

Her eyes watered, and she knew it was more than just the sickness making her vision swim. “I guess.”

“Mindy, forget about him. If he’s sleeping with my sister like five minutes after you two broke up then he wasn’t the one.”

A fat tear rolled down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it. “They’re sleeping together?”

“Yeah, that’s why I told you.”

“I thought you just meant like they’d have dinner.” Her stomach roiled and she held the waste bin closer just in case.

“Dinner isn’t anything. I wouldn’t have told you about that.”

She smiled weakly. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

Peter stood up and held out his hand. “Why don’t we go get some fresh air?”

She caught his hand and pulled herself up. Straightening her blouse she swallowed and wiped gingerly at her eyes. “I think I need to take a walk by myself.”

Peter’s lips drew into a thin line as he regarded her cautiously. “If you say so.”

Mindy was pushing past him and had one arm in her coat sleeve before Peter could change his mind. She skipped the elevator (a minefield on a good day) and slowly descended the stairs.

The air was fresher outside, but the sickness more insidious than a little nausea. Her head ached and as she walked faster and faster away from the building her lungs began to ache as well.

For weeks now she’d been racking her brain for a reason why this had happened. He’d said it was because he didn’t want to lose her, but how the hell do you lose something you just throw away?

Maybe if she’d just been a little less rigid about the sex thing. She’d wanted to, and she hadn’t been that picky about it before, even with Casey. It just…it had felt like something. Like this would be the last first time. Like this would be the person whose kisses changed, the way kisses should, from fire to true warmth. She’d just wanted to hold onto the fire a little longer. A desperate giggle pealed out of her. Even a child knew not to try and hold on to fire.

And with that sad, clichéd epiphany the sickness began to flow away, replaced by…nothing. She shook the last traces of the feeling away as she entered the building, composing herself with careful breaths as she climbed the stairs. The office was half empty by the time she walked in, quiet except for Tamra nattering to her cousin on the phone whilst Morgan lurked in the door to phlebotomy, clearly listening in. Mindy had a bad feeling about whatever was going on there, but her first instinct was to take it to Danny and she didn’t have that anymore. Peter was trying, he really was, but it wasn’t the same. Sometimes she could see it in Danny’s eyes, how much he wanted that back, to be her confidant, but her dignity felt very fragile at the moment, and she couldn’t bring herself to give him that.

Danny’s coat was draped over the reception desk like he’d almost made it out the door before being stopped for some ridiculous reason or other, and as she passed it was all she could do not to run her fingertips across it, to stir the scent from the fabric. Then a glint of red caught her eye. She didn’t even have to look to know that a long red hair was caught right under the collar, probably left this morning by a woman who would never know what she had really been holding when she’d writhed under him last night. A woman who would blithely turn down pancakes, not knowing how much of Danny went into cooking for someone he cared about. A woman who’d laugh when he danced for her instead of seeing the hours of effort that went into a gift like that.

Mindy hit the bathroom door at full speed. She dry heaved a couple of times, but there was nothing left in her but regret. She fished her phone out of her pocket and dialled as the tears streamed down her face. “Hi Mom, it’s me.”


	4. for gloriagilbertpatch

“We don’t need any of this stuff.”

“Excuse me, we need all of this stuff. I got this list from Gwen, and there is no way our little onion is going without anything that Riley had.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows our baby is the best, so we’re doing this right.”

“No, not that. The onion. Why’d you call it an onion?”

“It’s the onion week, babe!”

“Oh, the size thing? You know I never use that with patients. How does comparing a baby to produce help anything. It’s weird.”

“You just give patients the actual measurements. Because you’re super boring. Everyone knows it. Peter’s the fun doctor, Jeremy’s the hot doctor…”

“Hey!”

“I’m the hot AND fun doctor, and you’re Dr Stick-in-the-Mud. Or the racist doctor.”

“What?”

“Hey, you’re the one with the whitemommy.com cred.”

“I’m obviously not racist. I’ve got a little brown baby in there.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Sorry. Don’t call me the racist doctor though.”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you. No one thinks you’re racist.”

“But everyone thinks I’m boring?”

“I don’t think you’re boring. I’m just saying it’s fun to tell a woman she’s got a little blueberry baby. Try it some time.”

“Ours isn’t a blueberry though. It’s an onion. What’s cute about that?”

“Next week it will be a sweet potato.”

“Have you ever been to a grocery store? Sweet potatoes come in like 50 sizes. It means nothing.”

“Will you stop raining on my parade? Sweet potato is cute.”

“Fine.”

“And let me get the bassinette.”

“No. We don’t need one. We can just stick him in a laundry basket. It’s basically the same thing.”

“No it is not!”

“A laundry basket was good enough for me.”

“Okay, you did not sleep in a laundry basket.”

“I’m Catholic. We just stick a baby wherever there’s space to keep it until First Communion.”

“What are you talking about? Number one, you only have one brother. Number two, I’ve seen baby photos of you. You were the fattest baby on Staten Island and there’s no way you fit in a laundry basket.”

“Lay off, I was a cute baby.”

“Danny you looked like the Michelin Man.”

“Joke’s on you Lahiri, I’m not the one who’s gotta push the Michelin Man Jr out of her hoo-haa in five months.”

“Danny, you’re a gynecologist. You can say vagina.”

“Shhh! Not in front of the onion.”


	5. for grelca

_You know what? You live around here. I should just spend the night at your place._

She’s kidding. Kind of. If he’d said no and stuck to it she could have called Jeremy and asked him to give her Maggie’s number. She could have slept on the smelly sofa in the doctor’s lounge. Danny could have checked her into a hotel and let her pay him back in the morning. There were options, but he gives in so easily.

 _Don’t get so carried away. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being your friend,_ she thinks to herself, but it feels like more than friendship when he puts his hand in the small of her back, guiding her across the street. It feels like more than friendship when they settle comfortably on the sofa together.

He’d just volunteered some old clothes for pajamas, and surprised her by handing her a couple of hangers to preserve her work clothes. She’d perused his bookshelves and found primarily medical texts and the kind of bestsellers that feature lone wolf genuises who solved the world’s crises then faded back into the night.

 _Of course he would identify with that_ , she thinks, and it’s almost enough to make her pick one up and try, for him. Instead she settles on a kids book, and sugar cubes, leaning back against a pillow that must have come from his bed because it smells like him. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable and she actually finds herself looking forward to sleeping on it. Leather sofas can be so cold at first, but they warm eventually and stay warm, conform to your body in a way that a fabric sofa doesn’t.

Something has him on edge and she tries to break the tension with a little comment about her book, but he bolts like rabbit and suddenly she’s alone on the sofa with a couple of blankets and a miserable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’s tense now too, and it occurs to her that perhaps it wasn’t just the sofa that made her comfortable. She’s never been able to just be quiet like this with anyone else and she misses it almost immediately.

She pads around his kitchen first, just looking, sometimes brushing her fingertips over his things. Making her way around the living room she examines his weird collection of fans, the mismatched bottles placed in clusters on shelves around the room, his baseball paraphernalia. She picks up a glove (or is it a catcher’s mitt? She doesn’t know.) and slips it onto her hand. Did he choose all these things himself, or did he let a decorator choose something to match his other stuff? Her fingers are warm in the glove now, and she knows this one was his choice, not the decision of a professional stager, or an artifact from a relationship. How many times has he put this on and pressed his knuckles into the palm? Her own knuckles fit perfectly in the center, and her stomach flutters nervously as she finds her mind wandering to the elegant taper of his fingers, and the way they burn through three layers of clothing when they settle at your waist as he guides you across the road, as they rest gently over a flat belly imagining how it would swell with his son.

She finishes her circuit, close enough to hear his television through the door, see the light dance across the floor. Her hand on the doorknob she thinks stupidly that somewhere here is a metaphor for what they’ve been doing here – stiff leather giving way to warmth, doors shut but not locked, easy lies told to protect tender hearts.

But that would be too simple and people never are.  


End file.
